A Very Different Man
by Blue-eyesThropp
Summary: When Professor X sends Wolverine back to 1973, he warns Logan that he was a very different man. But even Logan could not guess just how different Charles Xavier was. Based on X-men DoFP trailers alone, so only partially canon with the film.


**Author's Note: Greetings :-) So, just to clarify; I recently found this fanfiction on my old USB. I wrote it some time after the first X-men DoFP trailers started to appear. I was a little confused as to why Charles Xavier was walking in some clips, in a wheelchair in others, but wearing the same 70's clothing in all of them. I had several theories, including alternate dimensions, but the one featured in this fanfiction is the one I actually hoped would make it into the movie. Sadly, it never did, and as much as I loved the film, I never did quite warm to how they gave Charles his legs back and took his abilities, as it doesn't make much sense to me, biologically speaking.  
>Anyhow, here's my take on events. Hope you enjoy it, and if you could take a minute to drop me a review, that would be greatly appreciated :-)<br>xxx Blue-eyes**

**Summary: When Professor X sends Wolverine back to 1973, he warns Logan that he was a very different man. But even Logan could not guess just how different Charles Xavier was. Based on X-men DoFP trailers alone, so only partially canon with the film. Rated T for one big, bad swear-word. Suggested alcoholism.**

**Disclaimer: All rights go to the creators of the X-men comics and films. I am in no way affiliated with them, and write solely for fun, not profit. No copyright infringement intended.**

A Very Different Man

_Lead me, guide me, be patient with me._  
><em>I was a very different man, Logan…<em>

* * *

><p>When Logan regained his consciousness and, to an extent, his balance, he found himself standing in the middle of a strange living room. It was dark, lit solely by the light of a solitary blub dangling from the ceiling and the fading sunlight shining through the patterned glass windows above the wear-and-tear orange sofa directly opposite him. The room smelled dusty and damp, the odour of cheap whiskey and stale sweat lingering in the air also. A record player to Logan's right was playing an old Beatles tune. The calendar hanging above it to the right informed him that he had, indeed, suceeded in his endeavour to travel all the way back to 1973.<p>

Only at second glance did Logan recognize the room he had landed in; much had changed over the years, but the mahogany panelling and tinted glass windows were unmistakable. He had been in this room only a handful of times before, and yet he recognized them immediately as Professor Charles Xavier's private quarters inside his mansion-yet, of the commonplace hustle and bustle of the school, he heard nothing. The whole place was eerily quiet, but for the strangely unsettling music. Not a single child could be heard running about outside; no voices, no classes being taught in the danger room, no basketball being played outside.

„Who are you?"

Logan's head snapped around; in the doorframe behind him stood a dishevelled looking young man, probably in his early thirties. He was wearing an un-ironed vest under a long house coat. His hair was long and fell about his drawn face in greasy, unkempt waves. A glass of Scotch hung limply in his hand, having found its permanent place there. The man's voice had an elegant English sound to it that could not be masked even by the slur of drink and fatigue. Logan found that it sounded vaguely familiar. Surely this could not be…

"Charles?" Wolverine replied simply, taking in each and every detail of the man, who was so alien and yet so familiar to him. He couldn't even refer to him as Professor, which he normally would have done without afterthought. But no, that was a title given to him out of respect, and what Logan saw before him was not the epitome of respectability Charles Xavier of the present day was.

The man- Logan could not believe that this slovenly stranger was the Professor he knew and looked up to- cocked his head to the side and eyed him with half a smile on his face. It was not a smile of joyful reunion; rather a pained grimace to mask deep suspicion.

"How do you know me?" he asked simply, "We're you a student?"

"I'm a teacher," Logan blurted out, seconds to soon before realizing his blunder, "I mean, I was- I will be…" He could barely string a sentence together, so confusing was the web of intertwined time-lines inside his mind.

"Bollocks. The school's closed! Now, are you going to tell me who you really are, or am I going to have to call the police?"

Logan sighed heavily. He could see already that he was not facing an easy task. He decided to begin with the simplest explanation; the one he was sure would be understood.

"My name's Logan," he started, but was cut abruptly short.

"Logan… ah, yes. Actually, I do remember you. I came looking for you. Yes, back in sixty-something, wasn't it?" the young professor snorted down his nose, "I hardly thought you'd remember me."

"You'd be surprised," Logan breathed.

"Sorry, what?" Charles did not even wait for a reply, "You're a mutant, too. Like me, I suppose. What can you do?"

Logan sighed. If he was going to convince Charles of anything, he had better play along. In replacement of a reply, Logan held his hands up for Charles to se. He allowed his claws to slowly protrude from the tender flesh between his fingers. It was still painful after all the years, and Logan winced, conscious of the other man's eyes that were watching his every move.

"Fantastic," he muttered, as Wolverine retracted the osseous monstrosities.

"That's not all. I heal, too."

The professor's eyes wandered to the content of his whiskey glass, which he was twirling around in his hand, suddenly wistful.

"So you're indestructible," he whispered, his brows knitting into an unreadable expression,"You're lucky, Logan. Few people can boast indestructible bodies."

Charles chuckled, and Logan thought he heard traces of inexplicable cynicism in his laughter.

"I wish I could give you an as impressive demonstration of my mutation. But, I'm afraid…"

"You're a telepath," Logan replied, quickly cursing himself for his carelessness, for Charles' head snapped up, his eyes wide in shock.

"How do you know that?"

Struck with a sudden thought, Logan replied, "Read my mind and find out."

Rather than replying, the Professor simply shook his head and pushed past Logan to let himself drop onto the sofa, swishing his housecoat behind himself. Logan only noticed then how skinny Charles was, and the shuffling, swaying way he dragged his feet across the floor. Logan had never seen Professor Xavier walk, but he had assumed it would have been with the same grace with which he manoeuvred his heavy wheelchair.

"Why are you here, Logan?" his voice seemed suddenly tired and very weary. Logan thought it best not to prolong the scene any more.

"You may find this hard to believe…" Logan began slowly, "I was sent here for you- from the future."

To his utter surprise, Charles began to laugh. A loud, uncouth guffaw Logan would never have expected from the professor he knew.

"Give me that one more time," he said, slapping his knee so vigorously with one hand that he almost spilled the beverage in his other.

"Stay with me," Logan reassured, him, "Someone sent me here to fetch you. Someone from the year 2015. We need you. You and… Erik Lehnsherr." Logan uttered the name carefully, yet he could see the mention of Magneto widen Charles' red-rimmed eyes just a tad.

"I hear he goes by the name Magneto now. How do you know his real name?"

"He calls himself that now. Trust me, in things change in a few decades."

Charles shook his head in utter disbelief. Still, he replied, "We can't get Erik. He's locked away where he belongs."

"What do you mean?" the Wolverine asked, suddenly realising that Magneto had indeed not divulged any information as to his whereabouts in 1973.

"He's in prison. For the Kennedy assassination, would you believe."

"That was him?"

Charles nodded, a small sound of almost reluctant affirmation escaping his throat, which turned quickly into a singular, rueful, dry laugh, "Yes... Erik has always had a certain… affinity to bullets,"

He shook his head, long strands of hair falling in and out of his exhausted eyes, "What could you possibly need Erik for?"

"We need you all- you, Erik; all of you. Bolivar Trask's sentinels…"

"Trask?" Charles interrupted him, "But those robots haven't even been approved!"

"Not yet."

The men were silent for several seconds, as Charles slowly nodded. He was beginning to believe Logan's story. Finally, Logan could see some residue of the man he had once been- or rather, and early hint of the man he was going to be. While the Charles he knew would not have taken so much convincing, at least this younger version of the future Professor X was willing to listen to an absurd story.

"In the beginning, the sentinels were just targeting mutants," Logan continued, "Then, they began targeting everyone. I was sent here with the order to stop Trask before he begins his programme. Once we arrive in the future, it will be too late. Most mutants… well, there won't be many of us left. There's a war in my time, and it's not looking good for our side- for your side, Professor. It's going to take all of us to end this war. I've come a long way to guide us; to bring us all together: the X-men." he corrected himself quickly, "We need your help."

The Professor did not move until Logan had finished his story. With Logan's last words, he lifted his glass to his lips and downed the residue of alcohol in one big gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he began to laugh.

"X-men… Do you know how long it's been since X-men? Ten fucking years! This school-" Charles waved his hand vaguely around the room, "Erik… it's all in the past."

He peered at Logan through a curtain of hair, muttering, "You can tell whoever it was that sent you that I'm… busy."

"That might be hard. You see, the person that sent me was you."

"I… I sent you?" Logan could read clear disbelief on the Professor's face.

"You did. You and Erik. Together."

Charles sucked in a sharp breath of air. He stared at Logan, his eyes growing glassy with tears as he let it go. Suddenly noticing the damp, he blinked his eyes fiercely.

"Right," he said slowly, "let's say, hypothetically, we could get Erik. What makes you think we can find the other X-men?"

"You could use Cerebro," Logan offered matter-of-factly.

"No. No, I'm sorry, I can't do that. I… I don't have those kinds of powers anymore."

Logan was momentarily taken aback. Professor X had told him that his powers had arrived when he was in his early teenage years. Wolverine suggested as much, but the young Professor just shook his head, sadly.

"I don't know what I will or won't tell you about myself in the future, Logan, but it seems that I haven't- or won't- tell you this…"

Logan felt a sharp pang in his head, which drove him backwards several steps, scrunching his eyes in pain. It left, however, as quickly as it had arrived. When Logan opened his eyes again, the Professor was sat before him, yet no longer on the couch with his legs crossed at the knees as he had been. He was sat in front of the couch in the high backed, plastic wheelchair Logan was used to seeing him in.

In reaction to Logan's look of surprise, Charles lifted his hand to his head and drummed his fingers on his temple.

"You see whatever I want you to see. I can use my powers for that. But just for that."

Nodding, finally understanding, Logan retaliated, "You could always use your powers for Cerebro."

"What and be… this?"

"And be you."

"Ha!" Charles scoffed, the agony in his wavering voice crystal clear and unmistakable, "You don't… you have no _clue_, Logan."

Logan was quick to retort, "But I do. Charles, remember, I know who you are in the future. Who you become; it's very different from this."

Instead of answering, Charles winced suddenly, his hand shooting to his forehead. His powers were evidently spiralling out of control now that he wasn't using them actively, for Logan could hear Charles' voice ringing in the back of his skull.

_What do you know about it? Lying awake at night, hearing everyone's thoughts? Remembering… Losing_everything_? Every night when I try to go to sleep I… I feel like I did when they left. Helpless. I know this won't bring back Erik; God knows, nothing will bring back Raven. But at least… at least I don't feel…"_

With another sharp pang to Logan's head, Charles, cursing silently under his breath for the accidental projection, was back on the sofa again, as though the last few sentences they had exchanged had been but a confusing dream. The professor all but jumped up from the sofa and walked up to his future student until they were face to face. Logan's sensitive nose burned at the sour smell of Charles' breath.

"You should leave now, Logan. It was a bloody mistake coming here. I can't help you, and Erik certainly won't, even if you get him out!" Charles turned his back on Logan and began to walk away

"Charles!" Logan pleaded, surprising even himself with uncharacteristic desperation "Please! We need you. We all need you. Hell,_you_ need you."

"Do you remember" Charles said, turning slowly around to face his student-to-be, "what you said to Erik and me when we met you in that bar? Well, I'm going to tell you to do what you told us to do back then: _Go fuck yourself_."

Logan stared at the young professor's back as he walked slowly out the door, swaying slightly from the alcohol in his body. Before Charles had quite reached the exit, however, Logan called after him "And what about Raven? If you don't help us now, she's going to die."

Charles stopped in his tracks and spun around slowly. He stared at Logan for a long time, his lips slightly parted. His breathing changed; grew heavier and deeper. Logan could see his chest heaving. Charles exhaled once and closed his eyes, bowing his head with resignation. When he looked up again, Logan could see that his eyes were unmistakably moist.

"Raven… she…" Charles lifted a shaky hand to his unshaven jaw as Logan nodded slowly. Logan had only recently been privy to a partial recount of Charles' history with the woman who was to become Mystique, Erik's ally and the second greatest rival to the X-men, and although he did not know the full extent of how the mention of her name would affect Charles, he could see it had done his job: the Charles Xavier was nodding, and, in spite of the distinct uncertainty in his voice, he finally breathed, "Alright. Fine; I'll help you."


End file.
